Assassin, a Black and Blue story
by Orion Lyonesse
Summary: Awakening alone and naked in a cold cell, Avon could only think of one person who could be responsible - Servalan! Avon/Blake, angst, mayhem, torture - all the usual suspects. Oh, and romance.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One

There was someone else in the room with him.

Blake awoke but didn't open his eyes. That should have been impossible. He was sure he'd locked his door before going to bed. But who was sitting in the chair at the foot of his bed, breathing slowly and evenly in the silence?

Blake was never one to think things through, especially when just awakening. With one movement, he rolled over and sat up, calling "Lights!" to the computer.

Briefly his eyes were dazzled and unseeing. As they adjusted, he found himself staring into Avon's eyes.

"Avon? How did you…"

"…get through your locked door?" the tech interrupted, arching an elegant eyebrow in an otherwise stony face. "I haven't been around Vila all this time for nothing." His voice was flat and cold, his eyes dark and mesmerizing with madness. His hands lay quiet in his lap.

Even the hand holding the gun.

"Why are you here – with that?" He questioned, gesturing casually at the weapon.

Avon's lips curved into a wolfish smile, though it failed to reach his eyes. Blake felt a breath of arctic cold skate down his spine.

"Isn't it obvious, Blake?" he purred. "I'm going to kill you with it." He raised the gun and pointed it squarely at Blake's chest.

Blake endeavored to remain absolutely still, while the hairs on the back of his neck rose in panic. It was a hard-fought battle, but he won – barely.

He kept his eyes locked into Avon's, buying time.

"Why, Avon?"

Blake read a slight indecision in Avon's manner, a tiny frown, as though he wasn't quite sure himself why he was there. Blake pushed at it, hoping to find a way out of the confrontation that wouldn't hurt or kill either of them.

Without moving, Blake pursued his objective quietly. If he could just keep Avon talking, or at least listening to him, maybe there was a chance.

Keeping his tone even and reasonable, he asked, "Is it something I've done or not done, said or not said? Tell me, Avon," he commanded, putting just a hint of demand into his voice.

After several endless moments, Avon finally answered, almost against his own will, it appeared to Blake. "You…must die. You're hurting me. It won't stop until you die."

Something about those words, that tone of voice…

Then he had it – it was like rote learning repeated at a performance. Just memorized words, with no real meaning behind them for the speaker. Despair deeper than any he'd ever known suffused Blake's entire being as he realized the full extent of what Servalan had done to his friend.

***

Avon woke to cold and prison-grey walls and the telltale headache and overall pain that bespoke a heavy stun barrage on his person. Reaching instinctively for his teleport bracelet, he cursed to find his wrist bare.

Then, to his dismay, he discovered that all of him was bare as well.

"Well, at least that explains the cold," he muttered, rolling over and getting to his hands and knees. Shaking his head in a futile attempt to clear away the cobwebs, he rose, using the wall rather a lot for support.

He stood braced in the corner, waiting for the vertigo to pass, as his mind snapped sharply into focus. He'd been covering the others as they retreated before Servalan's troops, the last out the door and, apparently, not quite fast enough. He'd seen the others out of the facility ahead of him, so he logically supposed himself the only prisoner.

What happened next, he concluded, would depend entirely on just how bad the rebels had hurt the Federation and how mad (in both temper and mind) Servalan currently was.

A grim smile tugged at the corners of his lips. Judging from his present situation, he guessed she was fairly frothing!

He heard the cell door unlock and open, but hadn't the strength yet to even lift his head to see who had entered. When he became aware of that particular scent of plumeria he'd come to associate with Servalan he knew. The fact that he was naked did nothing to improve upon his feeling of inadequacy, but, hell, he might as well brazen it out anyway.

"Ah, Servalan," he said sweetly, finally able to raise his head. "How nice of you to drop in."

He had known she was close but wasn't expecting the forceful backhanded slap that snapped his head to the side. The vertigo he'd just managed to quell surged to the surface. Gasping at the double onslaught, he couldn't prevent himself from falling to his hands and knees before her, dry heaving onto the bare floor.

Oh gods, he thought, his head hanging, eyes closed, she really is mad this time! He got some perverted pleasure out of that thought, even knowing it could mean his death.

"That's how I want you, Avon," she purred. "I only needed one of your mutinous crew for this…project of mine."

She moved closer, the folds of her long dress caressing Avon's cheek. "Oh, but to catch you," she continued, raising his chin with one elegant, red-nailed hand, "I was indeed lucky. I know so much more about what makes you tick than I do any of the others. It will be quite a pleasure, working with you. All on my side, of course."

She turned her back insolently on him, certain he was unable to harm here. "I doubt that you will enjoy any of our…activities." Her laughter floated through the cell.

"Guards, bring him!" she said. Ice pervaded her words. Gone was the sensual warmth, the teasing purr, even the mocking laughter. Her voice implied that he was nothing more than trash to her now.

As two mutoids grabbed him roughly, and dragged him from the cell, his last rebellious thought was, We'll see about that, Servalan.

***

His body shuddered uncontrollably. Cold. So very cold.

He felt like it had been weeks, months even, since he'd been warm. He'd always been susceptible to cold. It affected his mind, inhibiting his thinking processes. That was why he'd always worn so many layers of clothing aboard the Liberator. The temperature that seemed to suit the others well enough slowed his brain down. His own quarters were, so Vila said, more akin to a sauna than a bedroom, but Avon liked it that way.

He wished himself there now, instead of curled on his side on a filthy cement floor, naked.

The 'sessions' with the mutoids, overseen by Servalan herself, usually ended with him unconscious or wishing he were.

And…those other sessions with machines always left him confused for hours afterwards. He didn't actually remember the machines in operation, just the connecting of wires and his immobilization. Avon, who hated any form of restraint, always fought that the hardest. He always lost.

He'd tried to remain silent, too. He didn't want to give her the satisfaction of hearing his screams. But knew he'd also failed at that, from the raw feel of his throat afterwards.

He felt empty, like a shattered larvae casing.

He struggled awake at the sound of his cell door opening and involuntarily groaned and huddled in upon himself.

It wasn't the mutoids come to take him away again. That flowery perfume teased at his senses, bringing confused images and pain. With aching slowness, he began to uncurl. Averting his eyes, he scooting backward, bracing himself in the corner before looking up at the striking woman who stood over him, impossibly wearing a floor-length red satin gown that bared one delicate shoulder.

She was smiling.

"Aren't you going to greet me, Avon?" she asked, with a tilt of her head and an arch of one perfect eyebrow.

She seemed so tall to Avon, viewed from the floor through a filter of fear. He remained silent, feeling it the safest way to avoid more pain.

Abruptly, she knelt on one knee before the computer tech, her face bare inches from his. When he pressed backward, further into his corner, she tossed her head back and laughed with delight, like a child with a marvelous toy.

She reached out and brutally captured his chin, long nails leaving tracks across his cheek. She forced him to look at her. The terror and the absence of self she saw there satisfied her greatly. She released him, rose and spun on her high heels, gliding to the cell door.

At the last moment, she turned, calling to him, "Avon, I think it's time for you to go home. Yes," she continued to herself, "it's definitely time to send you back to your beloved Blake. Let him deal with you, if he can. My trap is set now. It only takes the trigger to set it off."

Her laughter drifted behind her as she left the cell block.

When Avon at last dared to look up, he eventually noticed the cell door was open. It took him a long while to decide what to do about that. When he was able to stand, reeling unsteadily, he started toward the open door.

A vaguely familiar sound froze him in place.

"Avon, my gods, what have they done to you?"

That voice! The voice alone sent a searing jolt of pain through him and he crumpled to the floor at Blake's feet.

***

"We've kept him sedated for three days, Blake, but he should be coming around soon. Do you want to sit with him?" Cally asked, acutely aware of Blake's distress for his friend.

"Yes, please, Cally," he replied distractedly, never taking his eyes off the computer tech's still form.

Blake had practically haunted the medical unit since he'd carried in the too-thin body, wrapped only in the rebel's own shirt. All he would say about the rescue was that Avon had heard his voice and fainted.

While the medical computers had been able to heal Avon's body, they still hadn't had access to his mind.

That was the burning question for the crew: was Avon still sane, after five weeks in Servalan's tender care?

A groan roused the lightly dozing Blake. Instantly at Avon's bedside, he was the first thing the tech saw as he opened his eyes. As Blake reached out a comforting hand towards Avon's shoulder, he saw the shudder that coursed through the gaunt body and dropped the hand quickly to his side.

"Avon?" His voice and eyes projected his caring concern and longing, but were met by confusion and a touch of fear. Then his patience, made brittle with grief and waiting, snapped.

"Say something, dammit, man!"

A shadow of a smile flirted with Avon's lips, but his eyes remained locked to Blake's. The low drawling voice the rebel so longed to hear after these past weeks of silence came out raspy and harsh. "And what would you have me say, Blake? What took you so long? Or, thank you for the rescue?" Avon closed his eyes and sighed wearily, slipping back into a healing sleep.

Blake continued to stare until he was certain Avon was asleep. Then , slowly, his hand crept up of its own accord to gently stroke the dark, too long hair, the pale face and one exposed shoulder before pulling the covers up over it. Resuming his seat, he waited much more patiently for Avon to wake again, knowing now that his friend and lover was sane after all.

But still the question loomed: What had Servalan done to him. And why?


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

"Damn!" echoed across the room, followed by a small crash of metal on metal. Blake, entering the flight deck for his watch, paused, startled, next to Vila.

Quietly, the thief told Blake, "That's the third laser probe he's thrown across the room in the last hour. I don't know what's bothering him, but something sure is. He can't seem to concentrate on anything for more than fifteen minutes and he edgy enough to explode! I sure wish you'd do something about him, Blake," Vila pleaded, not taking his eyes off the computer tech.

Blake sighed. "Yeah, I know." He shrugged his broad shoulders helplessly. "I've tried, but he won't let me touch him and obviously can't stand my presence for very long. We start to talk and suddenly he's needed elsewhere or he gets so jumpy I leave! I'm just as frustrated with the situation as you are, Vila. Probably more so. At least you can touch him." His last words revealed a world of longing to Vila, who placed a sympathetic hand on the rebel's arm.

"Be patient with him, Blake. He's been through a lot that we'll probably never know about," advised the thief, perhaps the most perceptive about human nature of them all. "I've seen the way he watches you when you aren't watching him. He still loves you. I can see it in his eyes. There's just something holding him back yet."

Hope briefly lit the big man's face, then drained away.

Bitterly, he said, "Wait. Give him time. Be patient. All good advice you've all been giving me for three weeks now!" Blake shook his head in exasperation. Suddenly coming to a decision, he told Vila, "I think it's time I stopped being patient." With that he left the startled thief and approached Avon where he still attempted to work on his computer station.

He came up behind Avon, grasped his upper arm, and spun him around into an intense hug. Then, before the startled and wild-eyed tech could react, the rebel pressed a kiss of burning longing to Avon's sensual lips.

The effect shook them all.

Vila saw Avon's back stiffen and his head go back as a scream of pure animal torment burst from him.

Blake stumbled back against the bulkhead, his hands raised as if to ward off an attack. The scream died as Avon passed out, crumpling to the deck, hitting his head on the computer console on his way down.

Blake unfroze and scooped Avon up, heading for medical as Vila called Cally and Jenna for aid. As soon as Jenna took the watch, Vila grabbed up ORAC and hurried to join Blake and Cally.

As he entered, Blake stood at the foot of Avon's med couch, feet spread, fist on hip, demanding of the Auron, "What the hell caused that?"

From the doorway, Vila answered for her. "You did," he said, but not accusingly. "As soon as you touched him, he went stiff as a board. When you kissed him, he went on overload. Whatever Servalan did to him, it's connected directly with you."

Cally nodded. "Vila's right, Blake. I'll need to keep Avon here for awhile, to check for concussion, but you'll have to stay away from him." She softened a bit at Blake's stricken look. "ORAC can monitor his mind and try to find some way to get at this…programming he's suffering from. Maybe," she glanced down at the unconscious man, lightly touching the sheet covering him, "maybe we can bring him out of it. I hope so, for both your sakes, Blake."

***

"According to ORAC," Cally stated, "Avon has been programmed to kill you, Blake. Obviously, the trigger was for you to kiss him. From now on, we'll have to watch Avon very closely, because as soon as he is up and able, he'll find a way to kill you."

With Avon sedated after several sessions with ORAC, they had all gathered in the crew lounge to try to find a solution for the tech's problem.

"Can't we just get ORAC to…unprogram Avon?" Vila asked uncertainly.

"No, Vila. It's too deeply implanted in Avon's mind. ORAC says the programming has to be carried out for it to be deactivated," Cally answered.

"You mean, we have to let him kill Blake for him to recover?" Vila exclaimed, eyes widening and eyebrows rising. "The cure is kinda drastic, don't you? Especially for Blake."

Jenna chimed in. "I'd have to agree with Vila. It's a given that we can't let Avon kill Blake, but can't we…I don't know…make him believe he's killed him?" She turned, canvassing the group for ideas.

"I think that would be too cruel to Avon," Cally ventured, wrinkling her forehead, "but I…don't see any other way around the problem"

Blake had been silent up till now. "Have…you asked ORAC what his recommendation is?"

Cally nodded. "Yes, and that's it, Blake. I'm sorry, that was all I could get out of him." She smiled ironically. "I'm just not as good at badgering ORAC for information as Avon."

"Well, that's it then," Blake concluded reluctantly. "We'll just have to figure some way to make Avon think he's killed me, at least long enough to break the programming. But no longer than that. I won't have him hurt any more than he has already been." He looked around as they all nodded agreement.

Then they set about plotting Blake's murder.

***

Blake shifted slightly to ease a cramped muscle. Instantly Avon tensed, his eyes wild and black.

"Easy, Avon," the rebel crooned, body going still. He concentrated, forcing his hands not to shake, not to react, not to give this man he loved a reason to shoot him. Not yet. "Everything is fine. Relax." Then he waited in silence to see if his words could soothe away the tension.

Finally the tech relaxed slightly, slackening his death grip on the gun.

Blake ventured, "Could you put the gun down, Avon? Just so we can talk?"

The gun however never wavered, though the rebel thought he detected conflicting emotions struggling in Avon's huge eyes. His face though retained the same stony set it had held since Avon's 'fit' on the flight deck.

Since there wasn't anything for Blake to tie into to get Avon to talk, he simply sat, mutely waiting for the cavalry to arrive. When the rebel heard the faint click at the door, he was careful not to react as Vila came into view.

Then, in a choreographed movement, Vila rushed toward Avon, making as much noise as he could, shouting, "No, Avon, no! Don't shoot Blake!"

Avon reacted violently, jerking his head momentarily away from Blake, then whipping back to catch Blake, trying to get out of his bed. Without pausing, Avon fired directly into Blake's chest. As the big man toppled forward to lie still on the bed, Avon froze, his conditioning washing away, leaving on his face a dawning horror.

"My gods," he moaned brokenly. "I've done what she wanted! I've killed Blake!" He fell to his knees, staring with growing madness and hysteria at Blake's body.

He didn't feel Vila come up behind him to administer a knockout shot into his arm. He simply slumped soundlessly to the floor, unconscious and unmindful of the tears streaking his face.

"You can get up now, Blake," Vila called, rolling Avon onto his back.

The dead man rolled off the bed to kneel beside his unconscious lover. Pausing only a moment to peel off his shirt and body armor, he picked Avon up and placed him in his own still warm bed. Gazing down, he said softly to Vila, "I think it's safe for you to go now, Vila." He turned then, to smile at the thief. "Thank you."

Vila smiled back at him sadly. "I'm just sorry we had to do it this way. He's going to be frantic when he wakes up. Oh, by the way, we set up a minimum dose of that sedative. It should wear off in under twenty minutes. You sure you don't want me to stay…maybe to protect you when he wakes up?"

"I don't think that's necessary, Vila, but thanks for offering. I'd like to be alone with him when he awakens."

"Okay, but holler if there's trouble," he instructed. He saw the big man pull up the chair Avon had been sitting in, placing it where he would be the first thing the tech saw when he came to.

Then the door closed off Vila's view of the pair.

Chewing on the side of a finger, Blake worried if they'd done the right thing, whether the play-acting necessary to break the conditioning would drive Avon over the edge, and whether…Avon would ever forgive him the deception…and love him again.

Just watching Avon lying there, breathing shallowly, had a soothing effect on Blake. He calmed finally, his heart slowing from its thunderous pounding. He ceased worrying and concentrated simply on being.

The first thing he was aware of was Avon's tears silently escaping beneath his long dark lashes, coursing down his pale cheeks, to be absorbed by the pillow. Knowing full well what the man was thinking and experiencing, he called softly, "Open your eyes, Avon, please."

His words had an electric effect on Avon. His eyes flew open, to stare wildly at Blake. Rising onto his elbows, his eyes impossibly wide, the tech gasped, "Blake! Aren't you…how can you…" Words failed him so he resorted to motion. Ignoring everything, he bolted from the bed to wrap himself about the startled rebel, who, after one moment's startled hesitation, enfolded the tech in a fierce hug that threatened to break the thin man's ribs.

Avon didn't care in the least. After over two months of pain and despair and constant battling against his conditioning, Avon was home and safe.

A/N: If you enjoyed my trashing of our favorite crew, please review. It'll grease my editing wheels and make me post the next story faster!


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